In the Christian tradition, love stands as the paramount concept, a truth underscored by Jesus in today's Gospel lesson: "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." (John 15:12) The latter part of his teaching, which seemingly defines true love as sacrificing one's life for others, poses a significant challenge. Does this imply a literal sacrifice of life for another? This notion raises troubling questions. One method to contemplate this literal interpretation of Jesus' teaching on love is through a hypothetical scenario.
Imagine someone sacrificing their life for you, allowing you to live. This act is undeniably heroic, yet it prompts complex emotions. Would you feel gratitude, obligation, or overwhelmed by guilt? Now, consider this twist: What if the person who sacrificed themselves was someone you deeply despised, someone who had wronged or hurt you profoundly? How would their sacrifice affect your perception of them? However, dwelling solely on these questions derived from a hypothetical scenario risks missing the essence of Jesus' teaching on love. It presupposes that giving up one's life in a literal sense epitomizes love, neglecting other potential expressions. This approach, which I term "literalistically," disregards metaphorical or symbolic meanings, emphasizing a strict adherence to surface-level interpretations. Such rigidity limits our understanding of love, closing off avenues to life-affirming expressions of it. So, how else can we lay down our lives for others? By relinquishing our perceptions of them. Our views of others too often reflect our own biases and limited experiences, shaping them into caricatures of who we think they are. This approach risks loving an idealized image rather than the true individual. Who they are is boxed in our perception. So, we say, “I know who he is. I know what he’s going to do. He’s just like that…” This way, we end up loving (or liking, disliking, hating) our one-sided perception of who they are, not necessarily loving them as they are. We think we love them but only love the image of who they are that we ourselves fabricate. Philosopher Slavoj Žižek comments on this: “All too often, when we love somebody, we don't accept him or her as what the person effectively is. We accept him or her insofar as this person fits the coordinates of our fantasy. We misidentify him or her – which is why, when we discover that we were wrong, love can quickly turn into violence.” Alternatively, perceiving others as they truly are demands humility, curiosity, and respect. Though we can never fully comprehend their inner selves, approaching them with openness and a willingness to challenge our preconceptions is an act of self-sacrifice akin to laying down one's life. It requires acknowledging the fallibility of our perceptions and embracing the mantra, "I can be wrong about them." To truly love as Jesus commands, we must embark on the self-sacrificial journey of relinquishing our preconceived notions of others. Mere discussion of this concept falls short; words alone cannot encompass the depth of this transformative process. Excessive discourse may deceive us into believing we have mastered the art of loving without ever putting it into practice. This is my concern regarding mere rhetoric. Therefore, my aim in sharing this reflection is to inspire action, urging us all to actively engage in the practice of love. The foundation of learning to love as Jesus loves lies in prayer. This prayer is not focused on the individuals we aim to love, but rather on stilling our minds to discern the fabricated images we hold of them and the value judgments upon which these images are based. Below is a suggested template for practicing this introspective prayer, adaptable to individual circumstances:
Can you share how this practice transforms our perception and expression of love towards others? Let’s be a bit mischievous this morning by reflecting on a realistic description of a shepherd as we read the following poem, “The Good Shepherd” by Stanley Moss. For more reflection on this poem, please check out this link.
The second and third stanzas show us how this poem’s depiction of the shepherd starkly differs from that of the gospel lesson and Psalm 23. The lost sheep’s view of the shepherd is not always a good one that “makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters” but a butcher. So says the sheep, “I knew there was only a thin line / between the good shepherd and the butcher.” These lines capture the most realistic job description of a shepherd. This thin line that the lost sheep sees can be applied to our context this morning. Where does this shepherd of our own lead us? Psalm 23 explicitly illustrates where the Lord as the shepherd provides. In the gospel lesson, on the other hand, it’s unclear since the image of the shepherd who sacrifices oneself for the sheep is repeatedly emphasized. Then, we want to ask, "What prompts this good shepherd to lay down his life for the sheep? What puts into that situation? Again and again, we must not lose sight of Jesus’ good news for his sacrificial image: the kingdom of God, the presence of God is within you. This is too simple of teaching but radical and dangerous enough to have him killed on the cross. His teaching empowers everyone because it directs them all to experience and realize God’s inner presence which is deathless. No human authority can get in between people and divine authority. This free access to God, we can imagine, can be politically threatening to those in power. (Historically, the spirit of Protestantism lies in this intimately personal encounter with God.) Jesus as our good shepherd then leads us to the inner presence of God. All the comforting metaphors and illustrations of Psalm 23 can become much more real to those who meditate. In the presence of God, we shall not be in want that we’re satisfied. We no longer depend on external factors to fulfill our wants. They are accessible internally. Green pastures and still waters become the state of our mind in which our soul is revived, renewed, and restored. This surely tells us we’re on the right pathway to the depth of God. However our external circumstances are, as if we’re walking through the valley of the shadow of death, we’re not consumed with fear but can see the light of God’s peace. We may finally realize that our encounter with God’s inner presence leads us back to the symbol of baptism in which we’re anointed with oil and nourished with the body of the resurrection. The rebel sheep's cry to return “back to the mortal fields, my flock, my stubbled grass, and mud” echoes the Psalmist's assurance of dwelling in God's house forever, a reality experienced within our own bodies. Can you be resurrected now? What would be our response? We might assume that the resurrection is supposed to make us radically different from how we physically look now. Or it is something we can never accomplish in this life on earth, meaning it’s only available to the dead. But the gospel lesson this morning says otherwise. The resurrection is not some ethereal phenomenon or a paranormal event shrouded in mystery. It’s as tangible and real as the sensation of holding your loved one's hand or eating a meal as the risen Christ symbolically demonstrates in the gospel lesson.
Let’s ask ourselves, “Why do we Christians seem to take the resurrection as something that doesn’t happen here in this life? Why is it so challenging to believe the resurrection can happen to us even before we die?” Jesus raises the same question, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?” He hints that fear is what prevents us from experiencing the resurrection as real. What kind of fear would this be? While there are many types of fear, this particular fear that Jesus’ friends and we might resonate with is the fear of being changed into someone we cannot imagine ourselves to be even if it’s for the better. Can we envision ourselves acting differently from how we would usually behave? Suppose I’m extremely upset over something. I might lash out or take it on someone I’m most comfortable with. (It’s most likely our family member who becomes our punching bag. Why? Because we know they’ll still embrace us and will not leave us because of love.) When conditions are set, we are somehow programmed to act in the way we always do. Those who know our pattern of (unhealthy) behaviors would say, “I knew you were going to do that.” This is like limiting and drawing ourselves to stand behind the lines of who we are as well as who we can never be. We are not supposed to step outside these fabricated lines that we’re conditioned to behave. Fear sets up those lines not to cross and lures us to continue to act as we used to. No change means no fear. But this time, I want to do something different. I imagine myself choosing another path of patience and understanding. I’m not going to act out of rage. Instead, I choose to remain still while gently acknowledging there’s rage arising but keeping it at a distance. I see the gap between my stillness and rage. I can enjoy a sense of freedom in that gap I can actually be released from being entrenched in outrage. To jump over this hurdle of fear, Jesus suggests, is to “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see…” Don’t try to look at the hands of Jesus but your hands and feet. Touch them and see them. That’s where the resurrection takes place. It must begin with your body right here and right now. Look within. Our gaze upon ourselves interiorly first leads us to raw feelings and thoughts. Yet, as we still the mind, that is, to see them pass by, the presence of God is revealed to us with a sense of peace. How we know the presence of God is near as Jesus’ good news proclaims is through our experience of peace within. As I mentioned some time ago, the presence of God and the resurrection are two sides of the same coin. Our encounter with the presence of God transforms us. In other words, we’re resurrected through, with, and in the presence of God. The resurrection in this sense isn't a distant concept detached from earthly life; rather, it's meant to be palpable, substantial, and discernible. It's an experience that transforms us in concrete and measurable ways. Who we once were and who we become after experiencing the resurrection are not the same. The profound impact of the resurrection is evident in the observable changes it brings to our lives. Then, I return to the question I raised at the beginning of my reflection. Can you be resurrected here and now? Yes, you can. The present moment constantly opens up for us to make the resurrection possible. This present moment is God’s present. What we’re called to do is to keep our present moment resurrected. Don’t just spend your present moment in a way you’re used to but skillfully, heedfully, and attentively examine your thoughts, words, and deeds. To this resurrection being embodied in our hands and feet, we are witnesses. [Reflecting on today’s gospel lesson, let's contemplate the three sayings of Jesus: 1) "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." 2) "Receive the Holy Spirit.” and 3) “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained." (John 20:21-23)]
1) In presiding over our Sunday Eucharist, I aim to infuse each aspect with thoughtful intentionality, connecting our liturgy seamlessly to our daily lives. Sometime in January of last year, I talked about “The Lord be with you,” which is the opening greeting before we pray in our worship. This liturgical dialogue of mutual greeting can be perceived as a means to remind one another of the inner presence of God. Just like “The Lord be with you” there’s another one that carries the symbol of the resurrection. That is, “The peace of the Lord be always with you.” This greeting is the greeting of the resurrection as we hear in today’s gospel lesson. The risen Christ greets his friends and says, “Peace be with you.” This peace is not just a general wish for peace but the peace that overcomes death or the worst possible situation that one can imagine. This is the peace of perpetual resilience and hope that grants true happiness despite external obstacles. So, again, when we exchange this greeting of peace, we are not only reminded of the resurrection peace but also of the call or duty to cultivate that peace in us as Jesus adds to his peace greeting, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” This is much more urgently needed in our world which is so divided. 2) How do we then cultivate this resurrection peace? Jesus doesn’t leave us with nothing but provides a means to get on it. He breathes on his friends after sharing his peace and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Try NOT to imagine that Jesus is trying to do something magical here. Rather, visualize him showing how he has received the Holy Spirit as he breathes on his friends. The key here is that the breath he shares is the breath you now inhale and exhale. It’s not coming from up there or over here but within. That which breathes within is the Breath of God, the Holy Spirit, sustaining life. As we reflect on this saying of Jesus, there’s one more thing to do which is crucial. We must put this into practice if we truly want to cultivate the resurrection peace in our lives. Find a quiet place where you can concentrate on your breath. Sit comfortably, having your back straight. See how you’re actually breathing in and out. You’re not just breathing the air but imagine it is the energy traveling and circulating throughout your organs, vessels, and bloodstreams. By concentrating on one thing, which is our breath, we remain still. This stillness becomes the foundation of your being. Experiencing this inner stillness is good for us for one particular reason. It helps us tremendously live wisely and skillfully as we learn to know our emotions, feelings, and thoughts much better. This reduces stress in life and thus we suffer less. Here’s an example of what I’m trying to show. Suppose I’m enraged and act on it. In this case, I become the rage itself. I = enraged. See figure 1 below. What our practice of stilling prayer or meditation does is then the following. I step away from that rage as I keep in mind the Breath of God through my breath flowing in and out. See figure 2. As I deepen my concentration on my breath, there’s a gap or space created between rage and me. That gap or space is to recognize God’s presence in us. The more we practice, the wider and deeper the presence of God becomes. See figure 3. This stilling prayer in the presence of God doesn’t aim to rid of rage itself. Let’s be honest. We feel what we feel based on our experience with external things and people out there. The goal of getting in touch with God’s breath or presence is not becoming a robot that doesn’t feel. We want to be wise and skillful in our actions so that we don’t act on strong feelings unskillfully because it doesn’t bring good outcomes. So rage is still there but managed. See figure 4. 3) This then leads us to Jesus’ saying on forgiveness: “ If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” When we’re in a situation to forgive, we are most likely resentful of a wrongdoer. Replace “rage” with “resentment” in the images below. When we can manage resentment, we are doing the work of forgiveness, which basically means “unbinding.” We’re not enslaved to the victim role who feeds off of resentment but are free. This process of forgiveness or unbinding is essential to our happiness. It does not erase the wrongs but frees us from the shackles of resentment. We do not forgive wrongdoers for them but for ourselves. Otherwise, we’re bound by resentment from which we suffer. (For those who have wronged others, forgiveness is also essential to their happiness because they’re bound by guilt and shame. To make amends on their part is to set themselves free.) So my friends in Christ, would you join me in the journey of peace-cultivating that leads to peacebuilding? |
Paul"...life up your love to that cloud [of unknowing]...let God draw your love up to that cloud...through the help of his grace, to forget every other thing." Archives
January 2025
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